


Basophobia

by RiceNoodlesAndCrime



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Picnics, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sort Of, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiceNoodlesAndCrime/pseuds/RiceNoodlesAndCrime
Summary: A nice gesture gone horribly wrong, Crowley and Aziraphale navigate their way through their new relationship in (1) emotionally draining picnic trip
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

It was _supposed_ to be a normal evening.

In theory, it should have been. Crowley had planned it to be, of course. Not just a normal evening but a splendid one, spent with his spindly fingers intertwined with his angel’s soft and manicured ones. It would have been a fantastic time that they could both look back on in the future, possibly over dinner, or a good few drinks.

Crowley had planned their day accordingly: Aziraphale would be relaxing in his shop, reading some dusty, leather-bound first edition book that was signed in curvy handwriting by the author. He would burst in, sauntering up to his angel and inviting him to a ride in the Bentley. Aziraphale would put the ancient book down and stroll out of his shop, slipping into his car and they would bicker as they drove out of the city and to the countryside. And Crowley would show him the surprise he had in-store and the angel would be absolutely _delighted_ and it would be…it would be like…like a date. And they would go from there and eventually head back home, hopefully, a tad buzzed.

_See_? Crowley had put in a lot of thought into this! So, it shouldn’t have gone as _wrong_ as it had.

What _actually_ happened was this:

“Are we nearly there yet, dear?” Aziraphale asked, hands laid on top of each other while he watched the rolling hills and forests go by in a flurry of different shades of green, occasionally interrupted by the golden yellow hues of a wheat field, long-grain stems swaying in the wind. The familiar roar of the Bentley and the wind rushing felt incredible he closed his eyes, reveling in the refreshing gust of wind on his face.

Crowley smirked, turning to Aziraphale and laying his arm on the side of the seat nonchalantly as the Bentley zoomed down the road, making the angel and demon both sway when its tires rode over bumps, “Relax, Angel,” he flicked out his forked tongue, tasting the fresh air of the countryside coming through the Bentley’s open windows, “We’re almost there, you’ll find out what I’ve been up to soon enough.”

He glared at him, just a little nervous. They’d been driving for a few hours now and Crowley had refused to tell him anything about where they were going just, saying it was a surprise. It’s not like he didn’t _trust_ Crowley, of course, he did! It was just slightly unnerving, that’s all.

Aziraphale almost fell face-first onto the dashboard when the Bentley suddenly screeched to a halt, bracing himself on whatever part of the car he could reach. They had finally stopped.

The bookseller opened the car door and tumbled out of his seat, shoes kicking up dust and sand the second they hit the ground. Aziraphale looked around, closing the door behind him as he noticed the wooden fencing around the dusty dirt parking lot. He stepped away from the car, inching closer to a dirt path winding upwards on a hill covered in long grasses and wildflowers. _I guess that’s where we’re going._

Crowley was grinning as he sidled up next to Aziraphale, turning to look and gauge the angel’s expression, “Impatient, are we?”

The angel huffed in faux annoyance and gazed down, surprised to see what was hanging from Crowley’s hand, “Is that a picnic basket?” Aziraphale looked around Crowley to his other arm, “And a blanket? Crowley, are we having a picnic?”

Crowley grinned, the anticipation threatening to make his hammering heart burst out of his chest, “You’ll see,”

Aziraphale just shook his head, setting his questions aside until they got there. _If they EVER got there._

He took the demon’s hand subconsciously as Crowley switched the picnic basket to his other hand, starting up the path together, both _hyper_ -aware of the contact but _very_ purposely not acknowledging it.

Aziraphale breathed in contently, surprised when he inhaled something other than the smell of wildflowers and overgrown grass. It was…it was familiar but what _was_ it? He fumbled to describe it-

“Sea breeze! I smell the sea, Crowley.” He cried, gaze turning to meet the demon’s smile (the demon was trying _quite_ hard not to bite his lip in a fit of anxiousness), they were nearly on top of the hill now. 

“Why are we near the water, dear-” Aziraphale tried to ask, but Crowley (whose heart was working faster than his Bentley’s engine) just shushed him, putting a finger to the other’s mouth, and turned Aziraphale’s head (his hands found themselves in Aziraphale’s hair and all the poor snake could do was try not to faint as he felt that blonde, feather-soft hair) gently to look out at the view.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly, “Oh,” he spoke, softly, wind bouncing his curls up and down.

The sun was shimmering off the choppy water blindingly into the principality’s eyes, the reflection rippling with the waves. A flock of seagulls glided across the vivacious blue sky, little black silhouettes against the cottony clouds. Gusts of wind brushed Crowley’s long black hair back, making the dust kick up at the two immortal’s feet. The dusty road under Aziraphale’s feet wound itself along a rocky cliffside, the only thing separating unsuspecting people from a terrifying drop to the slate grey rocks below was a weathered wooden fence that had developed quite the collection of colorful moss.

“Oh, _Crowley,_ ” Aziraphale spoke reverently, marveling at the beautiful scene that looked like a renaissance painting come to life. Long grasses and flowers swayed in the wind, reaching over the dusty expanse of road and nicking the edge of his pants. The hand that wasn’t clasped in Crowley’s reached up to clutch the cloth on his chest, right on top of his heart.

“Well, what’d you think?” Crowley asked, his adoration for the amazement in Aziraphale’s expression hidden underneath his sunglasses.

Crowley was then suddenly thrown back against the wooden fence, dropping the basket and robin blue picnic blanket, the wooden planks creaking in protest as Aziraphale gripped the lapels of his leather jacket, “Ngk, a-angel?” 

He looked up at the angel, glasses slipping down, so they just barely showed his golden irises, black irises flicking around in surprise. Crowley’s hands fumbled, griping the wooden planks behind him, elbows leaning on the fencing as he looked up at Aziraphale. His blonde, _soft_ hair swaying with the wind, the sun lighting the curls up like a halo. He starred right into those blue eyes that matched the sky around them, staring at him with an alarming intensity behind his decorative spectacles.

“Angel…Aziraphale what-” he tried to ask but was interrupted when Aziraphale lips met his.

It wasn’t a lustful kiss, not desperate or passionate. It was soft, chaste, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t emotional. Crowley closed his eyes, leaning into Aziraphale’s hand as it pressed against his cheek. They broke apart again, a small exhale coming from both (even though they both didn’t need to breath). 

“Crowley,” he breathed as Crowley took his hand again, squeezing tightly, “thank you.” He backed off the poor, blushing sod, who was lucky he was leaning on the fence because otherwise, he might’ve passed out right then and there.

Crowley pushed himself off the railing, not even bothering to readjust his glasses as he stared, gaping at Aziraphale, “We-we just,” he stuttered, flustered, glasses falling off as he gestured with his hands, making a variety of noises, “I-you-but…”

Aziraphale, bit-of-a-bastard that he was, had the _audacity_ to smirk. Well, not exactly smirk, that would have been _too_ bastardly. No, more like a…like a knowing little smile, that could’ve been mistaken for a smirk. “Yes, dear?”

_Crowley.exe has stopped working_

“We just-I’m…!!!” Crowley, being used to forming and using miracles to shape reality to his will, was not used to reality flying out of his grasp and running circles around him and was having a hard time coping.

He finally managed to get the words out, flailing his hand into the air dramatically as he proclaimed out loud: “You _kissed_ me!!”

“Well, I always wanted to try it, dear,” Aziraphale said simply, hands at his side, blushing, smile steadily growing until he was grinning like an idiot. He was totally _underreacting_ in Crowley’s opinion. “I mean, I’ve seen human couples do it before, and well, I thought, I mean, why not, you know?” 

Suddenly a dark thought struck Aziraphale, cold and menacing, dousing the light in his eyes and draining the color from his cheek as he gazed down at his fidgeting hands. He shuffled backward, “If…if you don’t like it,” the smile had died a long time ago, “We-we don’t have to do it again if it makes you uncomfortable-” __

“No, no that’s not what I meant-” Crowley started towards him.

Aziraphale didn’t see him, shaking his head as fear gripped his heart in its icy fist, he had overstepped a boundary, of course, waltzed right over a border that shouldn’t have been crossed under any circumstances. “It’s ok, I’d understand, I’d never want to do something that you’re not okay with, my dear-”

He cut himself off when Crowley took his hand, rubbing his thumb over the angel’s knuckles. Aziraphale bit his lip as Crowley put a hand under his chin, tilting his head up ever so slightly. “Hey, angel, look at me,” Aziraphale took in a sharp breath, exhaling it out shakily. He numbly registered the seagulls squawking somewhere above them.

“Aziraphale, _please,_ ” Aziraphale finally lifted his head, captured in Crowley’s gaze as soon as he did.

“I-” Crowley closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before he opened them again, “I did enjoy it Aziraphale, and…and I’d _love_ to do that again because I love _you,_ you just…” he chuckled, moving the hand from under Aziraphale’s chin to his cheek, “you just caught me by surprise is all,”

Aziraphale smiled weakly, “Alright,” he said faintly, then glanced over Crowley’s shoulder, “Dear,”

“Yes, angel?”

“The blanket’s blowing away,”

“Shit!” Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s hand, sprinting after the rouge blanket as it was dragged along the floor by the wind, Aziraphale laughing as he pounced on it, rolling it up again.

Aziraphale picked up the wicker basket, reaching out for Crowley’s hand as they started down the path.


	2. Chapter 2

They bickered and talked about the ’80s, the 1800’s, the years Before Christ, arguing playfully, basket bouncing off Aziraphale’s hip as he described a food he couldn’t remember the name of for the life of him to Crowley.

“They started making in the renaissance I think, in France.”

“Éclair?” Crowley suggested, his golden eyes (he had left his sunglasses in the dust when Aziraphale had kissed him) shining in the sunlight.

“Mmm, no, but it’s similar. They had them in Italy too…”

“Oi, Angel?”

“Mhmm,” Aziraphale said distractedly, strolling onward as he thought of the _lovely_ dessert he had at that bakery and _oh_ the name was at the _tip_ of his tongue-

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale was snapped out of his stupor, turning around to face Crowley, “Yes, dear?”

They had reached a point where the cliff jutted out in a vague ‘V’ shape, right over the water, the road curling into the jut a bit and then snaking out to line the rest of the cliffside in. Crowley was already laying the blanket down on the grassy bit right off the road, using up a miracle to make sure it settled down on the grass and didn’t blow away.

They sat down on the blanket, Aziraphale gasping and commenting on the foods that Crowley had packed (“Five different kinds of cheeses? Oh, you shouldn’t have!”). Half the picnic basket was filled with wine, way more than the amount that should have logically fit in a wicker basket of its size, but Crowley wasn’t complaining.

And they ate and drank and bickered until the sun sunk into the crashing waves, warm hues of red, pink and orange surrounding a bright, fiery ball. Orange faded into a yellow that washed over the clouds, fading into a murky dirty purple and a dark navy blue, where stars were already starting to appear.

“Cream…Creampuffs!!” slurred a drunk Aziraphale, spilling more than a drop of wine on the blanket below them, “that’s what they’re called, creampuf’s…”

“Mmm, sound like a…more like a type of _cereal_ than a type a pastry to me,” Crowley admitted, also very drunk, stumbling over his words as he leaned into Aziraphale’s side.

“It's pretty…”

“Wot? The creampuffs?”

“No, the sky, it looks like…like, I’m not quite sure what,” Aziraphale yawned, “Oh dear, I seem to be getting quite tired.”

“Ah,” Crowley made to stand, almost falling back over again as he swayed, “guess we should…get going.”

Aziraphale stood too, stumbling and clutching onto Crowley, relying heavily on his support and almost bringing them both down, “Shouldn’t we, um…sober up?”

Crowly considered it, “ _Nahhhh,_ ”

“But you’re driving Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded, leaning on a fence “you gots to be sober if you're going to be driving.”

“Why?”

“Cause it’s _unsafe,_ ”

“Why can’t _you_ just drive?” Crowley whined, not quite ready to be sober yet.

“Fine, fine.” Aziraphale concentrated for a second, sighing when the alcohol was out of his system. He pulled Crowley’s shoulder around his neck and snapped his fingers, cleaning up the picnic they’d enjoyed, and set off.

This was around the time that things had gone horribly wrong.

~

Crowley hummed a tune under his breath as Aziraphale walked him down the path they’d taken, trying to convince him to sober up.

“You don’t even like me touching the Bentley,” he reminded the demon, grunting with the effort of having to basically _drag_ Crowley around as he leaned on him for support. “You're in love with that car, Crowley. I'd almost be jealous if I didn't know any better, "

“I’ll make an exception,” Crowley insisted, the alcohol making him hiss, his eyelids at half-mast, “Jussss’ this once, _you_ can drive it.”

“No,” Aziraphale gripped him gently by the shoulders, turning Crowley’s back to face the fence, staring him down, “You have _got_ to sober up Crowley, and we won't be leaving until you do.”

Crowley pushed Aziraphale’s hands off his shoulders, stumbling away and leaning heavily against the fence, gaze unfocused as he opened his mouth to argue-

_Crrrrrack!!_

The worn wooden fence split under the pressure, leaving empty air for the demon to lean on.

And Crowley stumbled back, tripped, and fell.

“CROWLEY!!” Aziraphale shouted, spreading his white fluffy wings into reality, and dove after him.

~

Crowley had been enjoying the haze that alcohol had put on everything until something in the back of his brain sounded the alarm.

At first, he didn’t realize something bad was happening, wind howling in his ears as he pitched past the fenced-in border of the cliffside, stomach flipping and doing somersaults as the whole world seemed to spin. The whole thing felt oddly familiar, he found himself thinking he should be scared, terrified even.

He was probably just throwing up, and that was creating the odd cold, numb feeling in his stomach and head. Drank too much, overdid it a bit _,_ Aziraphale would scold him…

Speaking of, where was Aziraphale?

Crowley twisted his head to look behind himself, recognizing the dark jutting rocks that ominously resembled teeth.

And he realized.

He was falling.

The alcohol drained away from his bloodstream, leaving behind numb fear.

In his serpentine eyes, the cliff above him became heaven.

And below him was the Sulphur pools of hell.

And everything was painful, and he was on _fire_ and he was _burning_ again and he couldn’t pull out his wings because he was falling too fast and he hadn’t _meant_ to fall he had just hung around the wrong people and he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t _breathe_ and he was screaming and he was _burning_ -

Something hit him midair, and through the haze of pain (burningburningitburnspleaseno-) he managed to latch onto it subconsciously, locking his arms around it tight. It smelled familiar, and it was making some sort of noise Crowley couldn’t understand but he held on anyway.

Because it was the only thing keeping him from falling and _burning-_

“-Hey, hey, shush dear, it’s okay,” _Aziraphale?_ “You’re okay now, dear. We were on a picnic on the cliffside, remember? You fell and I caught you, I _caught_ you…”

Crowley whined, and clutched tighter to Aziraphale, hearing the angel’s wings flap.

Aziraphale hovered above the spiky rocks that lined the cliffside, seafoam spraying his wings and buttoned shirt. His blue eyes glided over Crowley, who Aziraphale was holding close to his chest as he began the slow ascent up to the top of the cliff. Aziraphale took in the demon’s tense form, the almost-painful grip on Aziraphale he had, nails digging into his vest sweater. His tightly screwed up eyes and panicked whimpers in-between fast breaths.

And Aziraphale was, once again, very glad he’d chosen their side over heaven’s side.

He recalled a few (usually drunken) conversations that had led to them talking about the fall as he flapped his wings, gaining altitude, nearing the top of the cliff. He had started bringing it up more since the failed apocalypse. 

_Since their relation had gotten closer,_ Aziraphale thought.

The angel remembered the somber, faraway look Crowley would get as he reminisced, as if he missed a home he’d never had. Or the sharp intakes of breaths and tiny flinches he’d have if he missed a stair on the staircase, or how he’d hiss when falling off a chair or couch. The memories were bitter, leaving a bad imprint on his psyche as it would have left a bad taste on his tongue.

His train of thought ended as his feet landed on the dusty road, near the broken bit of fence that Crowley had crashed through. Crowley, hesitantly, reached out for the ground to place his feet on, slowly standing by himself, but still clutching Aziraphale, face hidden in the angel’s old clothes.

Aziraphale held him as Crowley tried to take deeper breaths, shushing him as he gasped into Aziraphale’s chest, talking in the same gentle tone. Talking about this and that, reminiscing, knowing that the mindless chatter was what Crowley needed right now. Aziraphale slowly wrapped his cloud-white wings around Crowley, holding each other as they both recovered.

Eventually, Crowley looked up, golden irises with flecks of light brown and orange, gaze captured in Aziraphale’s eyes, that were as blue as the summer sky. Crowley cleared his throat, looking down again, breaths full and deep instead of shallow and anxious.

“Thanks,” he said, voice hoarse from screaming, hands not desperately clutching at Aziraphale as they had before, just holding him by the waist.

“Anytime, dear,” Aziraphale answered, “…Am I driving the Bentley today?”

Crowley shot him a shaky but affronted look, “Fuck no, what gave you that idea?”

“You did,” Aziraphale said, tugging Crowley’s hand and walking them both down the dusty road, “Remember? You said I got a free pass, just this once.”

“I was drunk, Aziraphale!” Crowley only just barely remembered what happened while he was high on spirits, and the wave of panic he felt at trying to recall the memory was not helping.

“A promise is a promise, Crowley, now hand over the keys.”

“Over my dead body, angel.”

They laughed and bickered, all the way to the Bentley.


End file.
